


Starving

by Orvid



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: (non sexual), Incest, M/M, Overstimulation, Sibling Incest, Sorry baby, Touch-Starved, i give all of my own problems to murtagh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 07:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orvid/pseuds/Orvid
Summary: Murtagh's already tired- it's 3am- he's not up for going through something this exhausting.





	Starving

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very nervous about posting this because it's really about my own touch starvation, but I really like this fic so I'm doing it anyway.

Just as he considers that it is high time he retire for the night, Murtagh hears a knock on the door. He sighs, sets his book down on the desk and slips out of his room and down the stairs. He opens the front door to see Blödhgarm, almost indistinguishable from the dark night surrounding him. Murtagh gives him a light smile. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Blödhgarm returns the smile, looking somewhat sheepish. “Ah, I’m sorry for disturbing you so late, but, actually, there is.”

Murtagh waves an arm dismissively. “It’s fine, I hadn’t gone to sleep yet,” he assures the elf. “What is it?”

Blödhgarm’s eyes glint when he mentions that he wasn’t asleep, but he doesn’t comment on it. “It’s Eragon.” Murtagh stiffens almost imperceptibly. “We were drinking together this evening and I daresay he’s gotten a bit... inebriated.”

“Is that so?” Murtagh replies with a quiet snort.

“Yes, and- well, you know how he can get. I’ve tried to convince him to turn in for the night, but he adamantly refused. You tend to have better luck with him when he’s intoxicated. Do you think you could try?” Blödhgarm finishes, sounding hopeful.

With a sigh, Murtagh steps out of the threshold and shuts the door behind him. When he faces Blödhgarm again, a smile bares his gleaming fangs. “Thank you. Here, he’s down in the dining hall.”

The pair begin the descent from the house to the cluster of buildings in the center of the Dragonhold. The students are asleep, as they should be at this miserable hour, and the lack of light and activity makes the buildings hard to make out. Murtagh picks out the outline of the long hall where they take their meals and his thoughts drift to his brother.

“Is he whining about Arya again?”

“Arya?” Blödhgarm echos, sounding genuinely surprised. “No. I haven’t heard him mention Arya in... it must have been months ago. A year? Now that you bring it up, it is a bit odd.”

Murtagh hums his agreement and wonders at the significance of the information. When they arrive at the dining hall a few minutes later, they pause at the door and Murtagh notices Blödhgarm glance longingly back up the hill at the houses. Murtagh takes pity on him, saying, “Thank you, Blödhgarm, I can handle it from here. I’ll make sure that he gets to bed.”

“Again, I appreciate it,” he responds with a relieved grin. He wishes Murtagh a good night and returns the way they came. Murtagh watches until he rounds a corner then turns back to the door. He takes a breath and pushes it open.

The hall is dimly lit with a number of warm lanterns scattered around. The chairs sitting around the long rectangular tables are all neatly pushed in except for one, at the corner of the back right table, where Eragon sits. He has his head placed in the crook of his elbow on the table, facing away from Murtagh. Murtagh lets the door shut and approaches him, and when he gets near, Eragon lifts his head and looks at him. A large smile breaks out across his face.

“Murtagh! Brother dearest! I was just thinking about how I wanted to see you. I’m glad you’re here!” Eragon exclaims, clumsily dragging out the chair next to him, almost tipping it over. Murtagh ignores the offer and stands at the end of the table instead, right next to Eragon. He puts his hands on his hips.

“Yes, I’m here. I’m here because a little birdy came and told me that you’re being a stubborn nuisance,” Murtagh accuses teasingly, leaning over to better glare down at Eragon who smiles carelessly back up.

“Bah, more like a little wolf. Besides, he was wrong anyway, I’m never stubborn.” He reaches over for a tankard off to the side and raises it to his lips. Before it gets there, however, Murtagh puts a hand over the opening and forces the cup back onto the counter, looking Eragon in the eye. He lets out a whine, but doesn’t put any real effort into getting the cup back. After a moment, he breaks the eye contact with a tired sigh. “Oh, you’re right, I’ve had enough to drink tonight anyways.” He puts the tankard down again, further away than it was before. “Besides, I have something better to occupy my attention now,” Eragon says boldly, giving Murtagh a mischievous grin.

Murtagh scoffs and rolls his eyes, but inwardly, he’s relieved. Eragon is cheery drunk; that’s much easier to deal with than the gloomy drunk he usually is. Or _was_ , Murtagh corrects himself, reflecting on what Blödhgarm said earlier. He can hardly call Eragon an alcoholic. He drinks infrequently; it just seems like, when he does sit down to drink, he often overdoes it. Murtagh had figured that was why he does it, plenty of people drink to get drunk, but now he’s not as sure. If Eragon is getting over Arya, then what would he be getting drunk over? Murtagh shakes off his thoughts and perches himself on the edge of the table.

“It’s gotten quite late.” He gestures at the black windows. “We’d both be better off in bed.”

“But you’ve only just gotten here!” Eragon objects with a pout. Murtagh can’t help but smile back at him.

“I’ll still be here tomorrow,” he assures him patiently. “We can talk whenever you’d like.” Eragon turns away, teeth worrying at his lower lip. “Come on, you know you’ll be thanking me in the morning. We’re going to get little enough sleep as it is.”

As his shoulders fall into a slouch, Eragon sighs. “Fine. It’s late, and I shouldn’t be keeping you up anyway.” Murtagh smiles and pushes himself off the table. “I’ll go back, _but_ -” he turns around to see Eragon wearing an extremely self satisfied look on his face- “only if you carry me.”

Murtagh releases an exasperated breath and crosses his arms. “For pity’s sake, Shadeslayer, you need me to _carry_ you back?”

“Yes!” Eragon declares, leaning back and spreading his arms wide. Murtagh stays where he is for a few moments, then, with much grumbling and eye rolling, hoists his brother out of his chair. He knows it’s more trouble than it’s worth to argue with him while he’s drunk. Eragon giggles and presses his face into his shoulder as Murtagh picks him up bridal style. He strides across the dining hall and Eragon throws his arms around his neck, linking his hands on top of his other shoulder. When Murtagh manages to get the door open with his elbow, he shoves it open and starts towards their house.

They stay silent as Murtagh tramps out of the confines of the buildings and towards the path to their house. He keeps his eyes down, concentrating on any possible snares hiding in the dark that could throw him off balance with the extra weight. Focused as he is, he startles when he feels Eragon’s pinky move, brushing idly back and forth over his shoulder. Murtagh tenses and almost stops entirely before he forces himself to keep moving. It feels foolish that such a slight touch has him reacting so much, especially when he’s _carrying_ his brother in his arms, but it does. His skin sings at the touch, nerves snapping into hyper awareness as if looking for more. Murtagh tries to ignore it, but the motion commands his attention like a lodestone and he barely notices himself stop.

With a jolt, he realizes that they’re standing at the front door. He takes a shaky breath and wrangles it open. At the bottom of the stairs, Murtagh drops Eragon unceremoniously. He lets out a shocked yelp, but Murtagh feels too anxious and confused to care. “I’m not carrying you up the stairs,” he announces. He almost starts up them himself when Eragon grabs the front of his boot.

“Well, wait! Can’t you at least give me a hand?” Murtagh looks down at him and feels a flush of guilt. He helps his brother off the floor and lets him grab his bicep as they start up the stairs. “I don’t want to lose you yet,” Eragon confesses.

Murtagh frowns. After a beat, he replies, “You’re not going to lose me.” He doesn’t seem convinced.

Eragon wavers once on the way up, but steadies himself with Murtagh and continues to climb. When they reach the top Murtagh relaxes a bit; all he needs to do is get into bed, get his heart to calm down, and then he can get some sleep. But after barely three steps down the hall, Eragon’s grip on his arm tightens and he pulls him through a doorway into an unused bedroom. He swings the door shut behind them and smiles up at Murtagh. “What are you doing?” he asks, perhaps a bit more aggressively than necessary, but if Eragon notices, he doesn’t react. Instead, he just hums, not answering.

That is, until he sets his hands on Murtagh’s cheeks and tilts his head to kiss him.

Too stunned to respond, Murtagh stands there, stock still as Eragon kisses him gently. A thumb strokes his cheek softly and he tenses even further, muscles bunching so tight it feels like they might snap. Seemingly unfazed by his partner’s unresponsiveness, Eragon holds the kiss for a minute before slowly pulling back. Murtagh takes in a strangled gasp and, without his say so, his head lurches forward after his brother. It’s not enough to bring their lips back together, but it’s enough to encourage Eragon to do it for him.

At the feeling of the second kiss, Murtagh can’t stop the helpless sound that escapes him. He feels Eragon smile against his mouth and he flushes with embarrassment. He’s not sure whether or not he would have kissed back this time, because Eragon moves on before he’s able. He rubs his cheek across Murtagh’s jaw, hands moving back into his hair to give him room. He tangles his fingers into the locks at the base of his skull as he presses a kiss into the top of his neck. Murtagh cries out quietly and lets his head fall back against the door with a thud, giving Eragon more room.

Eragon moves all across his neck, beneath his jaw, and the beginnings of his shoulders bared by his shirt. His hands work in Murtagh’s hair, tightening and relaxing as his thumbs caress the edges of his jaw. All the while, Murtagh trembles violently in his grasp, eyes screwed shut, helpless to stop the desperate noises leaving his lips. He almost sobs when one of Eragon’s hands slowly traces down his side then back up under his shirt. It touches him feather light, almost more than he can bear, as a tongue presses on his pulse point.

When Eragon’s hand suddenly presses down hard and _drags_ up his torso at the same time his tongue licks over the entire length of his throat, Murtagh convulses and his legs give out. Eragon barely manages to get his arms beneath his shoulders before Murtagh collapses into a heap on the floor. Entirely unable to support himself, he doesn’t object as Eragon picks him up, arm beneath his butt, and carries him over to the bed. The instant after he tosses him down, he clambers on top of him, sitting over his thighs.

He lowers his head again and mumbles, “I can’t believe it,” into his neck. “You’re enjoying this. I thought you’d hate me for this, but you like it.” His voice is full of awe. He giggles suddenly, sliding his hands under the neck of Murtagh’s shirt, massaging roughly. “Why do you like it?” Eragon asks desperately, pressing harder into Murtagh’s skin. “Why aren’t you cursing me and shoving me away? Do you feel good? Do you like to be with me like this?” Murtagh’s lungs desperately suck in choked breaths as he tries to process what’s happening. “Why do you like this?” His nails start to scratch and dig in. “Please, Murtagh, I need to know!”

“Because I want it!” he cries, speaking for the first time since this started. “I want all those things I’ve never had! I-I want someone to _touch_ me without it _hurting_ , I want someone’s skin against mine, I want some-someone to _care_ about me, I want to feel like someone _loves me_ for once in my-” Murtagh stops when his throat closes, unable to continue. Eragon paused to listen to his answer and now Murtagh can feel his eyes on him, thinking about what he said.

“Well, _I_ love you. And I’d never hurt you.”

The hands start again and Murtagh gives a broken noise.

Eragon pushes up the hem of his shirt and bares his torso. In the dark of the bedroom, the shape of his brother is indistinct as he moves down the bed. His hands run up and down his sides as he starts to pepper kisses to the top of his abdomen. Murtagh jerks and thrashes under his ministrations, whining and crying out whenever his gasping breaths would allow. Eragon touches him relentlessly; every time Murtagh thinks he can feel no more, he adds some new sensation. He starts nibbling his skin, he starts stucking deep bruises, he starts sweeping his nails in broad circles, he starts pinching his way down his sides. Even his legs move, his right foot slipping up and down the side of his calf where it rests; it’s too much for him to process. When Eragon slides a hand below the hem of his pants without warning, caressing at the hollow where his thigh meets his hip, Murtagh wails and breaks into hysterical sobbing before he can stop himself.

“Not so much, _please_!” he begs. “It’s too much, I can’t take this much! Please, I can’t- too much-” Ugly sobs devours his words as Eragon stares at him in shock. In any other situation Murtagh would loath to be seen crying like this but, in the moment, his brain is so overloaded by the stimulation that it can’t process his shame, or anything else for that matter.

Eragon pulls back completely, scrambling off him in a panic, but that only makes Murtagh sob harder, the sudden lack of contact as hard to bear as anything. He settles for laying down at his side and resting a hand on his bicep, his thumb rubbing little circles. Slowly but surely, the weeping subsides, and Murtagh starts to regain his composure. Finally, he starts to actually think about the situation that he wound up in.

When Eragon had complained about Murtagh leaving, about losing him, he’d actually been worried about losing the opportunity to do something he wouldn’t dare do sober, Murtagh realizes. And no wonder. Incest. It’s with good reason that Eragon thought he would curse him shove him away. _You should have,_ the rational part of his mind tells him. _Maybe,_ the rest of him concedes. But Murtagh is painfully aware that he hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he wanted it. He did. He does.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Eragon mumbles into the blankets, sounding noticeably more sober. “I should never have done this.” The shame and regret so raw in his voice digs painfully into Murtagh’s heart. He could almost hear his brother internalizing all of his guilt. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have hurt you like this.”

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” Murtagh cuts in with a voice still rough from crying, trying to stop Eragon from turning all of this inwards. “I just... No one’s ever touched me like that... It was too much to process all at once. I got overwhelmed,” he finishes lamely, unable to ask the obvious question. Why? Why would Eragon, his _brother_ , touch him like that? _Was he being serious when he said that he..._

“I’m sorry, I should just-” Eragon starts shifting on the bed, retracting his hand from Murtagh’s arm.

“Wait! Were you telling the truth?” Eragon turns and looks askance at him with watery brown eyes. Murtagh flinches and lowers his gaze, but it’s the only thing in his mind, and it’s the only thing he thinks can keep Eragon from running. “When you said that you loved me, was that the truth?”

Now Eragon is the one flinching. He turns away again and drops back into the bed, seeming to curl into himself somewhat. A few beats of silence pass and then he mumbles, “What do you want my answer to be?”

He swallows. “Honest.”

“Yes!” Eragon gasps immediately, surprising Murtagh. “I’m sorry, I tried, I swear I did, I tried not to fall in love with you but I just couldn’t do it! And I knew that I couldn’t tell you because it’s fucked up and I knew you’d hate me for it, but I’m an idiot-”

“Eragon-”

“-and I get drunk when I’m heartbroken. And then I go and drag you into this mess, I don’t even ask, and I hurt you and I go say something stupid-”

“Eragon!”

“-and you start crying and this is all my-” Murtagh lunges over and smashes his lips over Eragon’s. Too nervous to hold the kiss for any length of time, he pulls back after just a second, but it’s enough to silence Eragon. He stares intensely back up at him, eyelashes glittering with tears. His cheeks are flushed from the alcohol, confession, and kiss. “I can’t do this,” he says, still staring. “I can’t be just a touch to you. I love you too much; it’d break me to pieces.”

“Just a touch?” Murtagh echoes. He rolls off Eragon with a low laugh; he can’t say this to his face. “Oh, Eragon. I fell in love with you the day that I met you.” He hears Eragon’s breath hitch. “You were so young then, so innocent; you never noticed. Though, to your credit, I never tried to make it known. And then... everything happened, and I just put it away. I knew it would hurt you and, even before, I never though... I never imagined you’d love me back.”

The following silence lasts for several minutes during which the two brothers contemplate everything that's been said. Finally, Eragon whispers, “What now?”

Murtagh stays silent for a few more moments before he sighs. “Now we go to sleep. Neither of us are in a fit state for deciding what comes next. Tomorrow will be a new day.” Eragon doesn’t respond, but he does shift his weight so he can yank the blankets out from under them and throw them on top. He hesitates, then shuffles closer to Murtagh. He grabs a hold of his arm and starts to curl around his side when he pauses and asks timidly, “Is this okay?”

Murtagh answers by closing the remaining distance between them and letting his face brush into his hair. He can feel Eragon smile against his shoulder as he squirms into a comfortable position. A few minutes later, Murtagh hears his breathing even out as he falls asleep. On another night, the feeling of someone’s body against his own might have kept Murtagh up for many long hours, but tonight, his exhaustion proves too tough an adversary and he falls asleep mere minutes after Eragon.

**Author's Note:**

> ps I don't think really think Eragon's an alcoholic at all. I know this is the second fic where I've written him getting drunk, but it's just because it's one of the few circumstances he would confess to Murtagh in.


End file.
